


Sherlock: What Lestrade Wants

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade has been in a foul mood for a while now. Everyone has an opinion on what he needs... only one person knows what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mrs Lestrade Tells...

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

Henriette Lestrade thought Greg needed some time; some time to get his priorities in order. When Greg came home around Christmas to ask if she really was cheating on him (something he suspected even before Sherlock stated it) she said yes. She said it was his fault, he was never there for her or their daughter. Lorelai heard her parents arguing even from her bedroom.

‘How can you do this to me, to _us_?’ Greg asked.

‘Us? What us, Greg?’ Henri demanded. ‘All you ever fucking do is work!’

‘Don’t blame me, Henri, you’re the one cheating!’ Greg shouted.

Henri sighed and folded her arms. ‘Greg, all you ever do is work. You spend six days at the Yard and the rare nights you do get off are spent at the pub with John bloody Watson.’

‘John’s a good mate,’ Greg tried.

‘Yeah, and you’d prefer spending time with him.’ She looked at Greg then, eyes accusing and posture hard.

‘Jesus Christ, Henri, you’ve never got over that, have you?’ Greg said and placed his hands on the counter. He tried to calm his breathing and himself. ‘Just ’cause I like blokes too doesn’t mean I wanna jump every guy I see.’

Henri scoffed. ‘Like blokes too...’ she muttered. ‘Too, Greg, or only?’

Greg sighed and turned away. ‘For God’s sake, Henri...’ he trailed off and looked back at her. ‘You know I’m bi.’

‘More like eighty percent gay,’ she said and Greg glared at her. ‘Don’t deny it, Greg, just don’t,’ she continued. ‘You’d dated twenty men before we got together and two women, how is that bi? And whenever we watch movies you leer at the blokes. That’s a preference, not a fifty-fifty liking.’

‘Is that was this is about, me liking blokes too?’ Greg demanded. ‘I’ve told you I’d never cheat on you.’ He glared at her. ‘You never said the same.’

‘I’m not ashamed of cheating, Greg, I needed comfort and you’re never here.’

‘Comfort or sex?’ Greg snapped.

‘Both,’ his wife said, ‘and you’re not here for either.’

‘Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it?’ Greg asked. ‘If you were so unhappy with our sex life you could’ve just said something!’

‘What sex life?’ Henri shouted, fingers curled into fists. ‘We don’t have a sex life and haven’t since Lorelai was ten!’ She looked away, jaw tight. ‘Just another reminder that you don’t like women.’

Greg ran a hand over his face and tried to stop from shouting back. Both of them screaming their lungs out wouldn’t help the situation. ‘Henri, you knew I was bi when you married me, when you _dated_ me. I’ve never cheated and I wouldn’t now. Just because I like blokes doesn’t mean I don’t love you.’

‘So you don’t miss it, huh?’ Henri asked.

‘Miss what?’

‘Cock.’

‘Henri!’

‘Well do you?’ Henri asked, staring at him with hard eyes. ‘Do you miss it?’

Greg didn’t want to lie. He _couldn’t_ lie. ‘Yeah, I do,’ he said, ‘same way everyone married misses sex with other people. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna go get it.’

Henri just shook her head and Greg leaned against the counter. He wanted a drink, a fucking cigarette, a... Greg really didn’t know what he wanted.

‘You need time,’ Henri said and Greg looked up at her. ‘ _We_ need time.’

‘Time?’ he said, confused.

‘Apart,’ Henri said. ‘Sleep on the couch tonight but... I think you should move out, Greg.’

Greg stared at her, mouth falling open. ‘You’re kicking me out?’

‘S’not like you’re ever here anyway, what difference will it make?’

‘You... you want a divorce?’

‘I didn’t say that, Greg,’ Henri sighed, suddenly looking far older then Greg had ever seen her. ‘We just need time to work out what we want.’

‘I know what I want,’ Greg tried, standing straight, eyes pleading. ‘I want my wife.’

Henri just shook her head slowly. ‘I’ll get your pillow.’

And that, it seemed, was that.

 

{oOo}

 

That night on the couch was followed by seven more before Greg moved out and got a shitty little place near Scotland Yard. After that there was drinking and arguments and Lorelai crying. And then papers that were brought with a, ‘You’ve been served,’ by a man who gave Lestrade a soft look.

Greg stared at the papers for hours, ignoring his mobile and landline and Sally Donovan. It wasn’t until his boss came in to yell that the tears burned behind his eyes.

One look at the papers and the Chief smiled sadly and said, ‘Get yourself home.’

Greg stood slowly and collected his stuff before shuffling to the elevators, looking every bit the trodden down wreck he was.

That was when it started.


	2. Work Orders...

After the divorce Greg tried to bury himself with his work. He tried to catch killers and would-be-killers and generally stop his team from killing Sherlock Holmes. The only days he took off where when he got his fourteen-year-old.

Lorelai tried to act tough, like the separation hadn’t hurt her, but she hated Mum’s new boyfriend with a passion and missed her dad.

Greg would just smile at her and insist he was okay, even though most nights he had a few beers just to knock himself out. It was either that or sit on the couch and stare, wondering where his life went wrong.

A lot of the time he fell asleep at his desk after working for three days with barely any sleep or food. One morning Sally had to smack him across the face just to wake him up. After that his boss insisted he take a holiday. Greg didn’t want to go but he was threatened with a suspension so he went.

It was... nice, and relaxing, and very beautiful and he tanned. But there was still that anger and annoyance, the knowledge that when he got home there’d be cases and an empty flat and cold soup. It was why he jumped at the chance to go to Dartmoor and look after Sherlock Holmes.

Even seeing a giant hound (or not seeing it, Greg really doesn’t know), he still got home to find a cold aching in his heart.

Mycroft Holmes had got him another week off, had insisted after the Baskerville incident, so Greg pottered around his flat. He made toast and soup (canned soup wouldn’t go off like bread and milk when Greg failed to get home after a week at the Yard) and stared at the TV.

He got calls from Henri saying she needed more money for Lorelai. He got calls from Lorelai saying she didn’t need anything and Mum could go to hell. He got texts from Sherlock saying he was bored and texts from John apologising.

Greg learnt not to pick up the phone.

He also learnt not to watch anything even remotely romantic, funny, tear-jerking, or good in any way, shape or form. Because everything made him angry. It made him throw beer bottles at the wall and one at the TV.

And now he had no TV.

Everything was the same and always would be. There would be work and Sherlock and John’s blog and... nothing.

Not a damn thing.


	3. DI Michael Dimmock Requests...

Dimmock, like everyone else within a mile radius, saw Greg’s declining mood before and during and after the man’s divorce. Though not particularly close, he figured Greg could use some company so invited the DI over to his flat for some drinks and food.

Greg accepted, figuring getting drunk at someone else’s place was as good as getting drunk at home or in a pub or even at the Yard. So he turned up at Dimmock’s at seven with some takeaway and beer.

Dimmock was all smiles and joking, showing Greg around his small flat (still bigger and cleaner then Greg’s) and tried to get the other man to pick a DVD. Greg really wasn’t in the mood to watch Transformers or Harry Potter or any number of strangely teenage movies the other DI had so they settled for watching the cricket.

Greg loved cricket... or used to love cricket anyway. They sipped beer and picked at food and commented on the players or the commentators or the adds. As the night wore on Greg watched Dimmock yawn and start to close his eyes. Greg wasn’t having a particularly good time either and couldn’t blame Dimmock when the younger men fell asleep on the couch.

Greg stayed for another few hours to watch the end of the match before carrying Dimmock to bed. He made sure he was comfortable before cleaning up and leaving, a note thanking the DI stuck to the fridge.

He caught a cab and walked into his own flat, tears burning behind his eyes. Great, just great. He was pathetic, he really was. He couldn’t even keep a fellow DI awake long enough to talk to him.

Greg had a shower and climbed into bed where he promptly curled up, hugging himself tight and letting the tears fall.


	4. Sally Donovan Sets Up...

It had been a good eight or nine months since Greg’s divorce and Sally reckoned it was time he got back on the market. She didn’t know the reasons behind Greg’s divorce but figured a good date would cheer the DI up.

Which was how Greg found himself in a semi-posh restaurant on Friday night sitting across from one of Sally’s mates.

The girl, Gabrielle, was sweet and charming and beautiful. She had curly blonde hair that she flicked behind one ear when she leaned on the table to smile at Greg. She told jokes and could hold her own, didn’t pry too much into his work or failed marriage. She asked about Lorelai and commented on teenage girls.

The food was good, the company was good, but Greg was miserable. He didn’t want to be out flirting with women half his age. He didn’t want to be out with a woman period.

Because Henri had been right. Greg was, more or less, about eighty percent gay, twenty percent straight. Not that he didn’t like women, sex with his wife (when they’d had it) had always got him off and had been great. But deep down Greg had always preferred men; their strong bodies, short hair, and the other appendage that Greg really very much liked.

He tried to be a good date, he didn’t want Sally to berate him at work for being rude to her friend. But when his phone buzzed he held up a hand, shot Gabrielle an apologetic smile, and answered, hoping to hell there’d been a murder.

‘ _Gregory, I do hope I’m not interrupting anything_ ,’ came the smooth voice of Mycroft Holmes.

Greg tried not to smile and said, ‘No, it’s okay, I can talk.’ He saw Gabrielle frown but ignored her, hoping Mycroft would need him ASAP and get him out of his date.

‘ _It is my understanding that you are enjoying the company of a young lady tonight, I fear that might be something I am interrupting_.’

Greg smiled slightly. ‘Yeah, well...’

‘ _Ah, not enjoying yourself_?’ Mycroft asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

‘Not really,’ Greg admitted and smiled at Gabrielle, hoping she couldn’t hear Mycroft’s side of the conversation.

‘ _Would you like this to be work dragging you away_?’

‘No, of course sir, I understand,’ Greg said and added a sigh.

Mycroft chuckled. ‘ _I shall pick you up around the corner, Gregory._ ’

‘Yes sir, of course,’ Greg said and hung up. He looked up at Gabrielle. ‘Listen...’

‘No, I get it. Work, right?’ Gabrielle said, smile back in place. She didn’t seem too upset and Greg threw down enough money to pay for the meal.

‘I’m really sorry, but crime doesn’t stop.’

‘It’s alright, Sal’s always running off, missed my birthday party this year,’ Gabrielle said as they walked out. She turned to look at Greg. ‘Listen, I like you, but I can tell this isn’t going anywhere.’

Greg blinked. ‘Oh, er...’

‘No worries, I’ll tell Sally you were sweet, which you are,’ Gabrielle smiled. She gave Greg a quick kiss and said, ‘Take care of yourself’

Greg watched her go before setting off in the direction he hoped Mycroft’s car was. He found the politician leaning against it smoking.

‘You smoke?’ Greg asked as Mycroft offered him one.

‘On occasion,’ Mycroft answered and lit Greg’s cigarette. ‘Bad date, Gregory?’

‘Not really,’ Greg shrugged. ‘She was nice but...’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he trailed off. ‘Well, she was a she,’ Greg finally finished.

Mycroft choked on a lungful of smoke and coughed, clearing his throat when he was done.

‘What?’ Greg asked.

‘I wasn’t... aware...’

‘That I like blokes too?’ Greg asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Mm, no one is. Well, mostly blokes these days, since the wife...’ he trailed off again and sighed, leaning against Mycroft’s expensive car. Mycroft watched him carefully.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft’s car pulled up outside Greg’s flat and the DI sighed.

‘Gregory?’

‘Dark flat, no TV,’ Greg said.

‘No television?’ the politician asked.

‘I threw a bottle at it,’ Greg admitted and turned to smile at a confused Mycroft Holmes. ‘Um, thanks for the save, I owe you.’

Mycroft just sat silently, staring at Greg, bright blue eyes as piercing and mysterious as ever.

‘Erm...’

‘Would you like to come back to mine for a drink?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg blinked. ‘What?’

Suddenly Mycroft blushed and looked down. ‘I don’t mean it as a... proposition,’ he said softly. ‘It just seems to me that you could use some company.’

Greg stared at him a few minutes more, the silence in the car crushing.

‘Forget I said anything, I apologise,’ Mycroft finally broke it.

‘No,’ Greg said quickly, ‘that sounds good, thank you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ Greg nodded and settled back into his seat. ‘Sounds lovely.’

Mycroft smiled and tapped the partition between them and the driver. ‘Joshua, my flat, please.’

 

{oOo}

 

It turned out to be very good. They chatted softly over glasses of scotch, sharing stories and generally just smiling. When Greg could no longer hide the yawns, Mycroft offered to let him stay in his guest room and even helped Greg into bed.

Greg smiled and mumbled his thanks, unaware Mycroft was staring at him intently.

‘Goodnight, Gregory,’ the politician said softly.

‘’Night,’ Greg mumbled back. ‘And thanks, r-really...’

Mycroft just smiled as Greg fell asleep.


	5. John Watson Rambles...

John was in a foul mood and had been since Sherlock’s reappearance. Everyone had been hit hard by Sherlock’s supposed death (except Mycroft and Greg wasn’t surprised, the politician telling him after the fact that he’d known all those months that Sherlock was still alive).

Sherlock had been gone seven months and couldn’t understand why John was upset. Greg could, though, and found out when John took him out for a pint.

The doctor claimed he just wanted to hear about Greg and be there. Greg too had been hit hard by the death of his mate. That coupled with his general sullen mood and hate of life meant John, as a mate and doctor, was worried about his health.

He asked questions during their first three pints, probably looking for signs that Greg was gonna off himself. Greg had no intentions of killing himself at all. Yeah, he generally hated life and yeah, he was depressed and didn’t see the point of getting out of bed most mornings, but he had things he had to live for. Work and Sherlock and John and Lorelai and... Mycroft.

The elder Holmes had been a strong pillar of support to both Greg and John during Sherlock’s disappearance. John had half-blamed Mycroft for Sherlock’s death but he still needed him around. Mycroft and Greg had grown close, so close that sometimes Greg dreamed about the younger man... not that he was ever going to tell Mycroft that.

It seemed John had been having his own dreams. Six pints down with another one half drunk in front of him, John proceeded to tell Greg the filthiest dream he had ever had involving Sherlock Holmes, whipped cream, jam and a riding crop.

Greg just stared open-mouthed as his mate went into a detailed description about Sherlock’s apparently glorious arse and bouncy curls and eyes... Greg was feeling thoroughly sick by the end of the night. Not that he was disgusted by either men (they were both handsome in their own ways) but Greg would never look at strawberry jam the same way... or Sherlock’s scarf for that matter.

It hit nine and John was thoroughly sloshed, moaning about how much he hated/loved/was attracted to his genius flatmate. Greg just shushed him and tried to hail a cab.

A dark tinted car drew up instead and Mycroft stepped out to help Greg get John in. They rode in silence apart from John’s hiccupping, tears, and muttered words about Sherlock’s sexy walk. Mycroft smiled down at the shorter man and Greg found himself giggling.

Sherlock was waiting and dragged John out. John punched him in the face before kissing him.

‘That seems to be in order,’ Mycroft said, climbing back into his car and shutting the door on his little brother and friend snogging.

‘Mm,’ Greg nodded as the car slid away from the curb.

‘Are you okay, Gregory?’

‘Hmm?’ Greg said and looked at the other man. ‘Yeah, fine.’ Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg shrugged. ‘Same old, same old.’

‘I see...’

Greg knew Mycroft could tell he was depressed but the other man had never said anything.

‘A drink at my place?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Or perhaps some dinner?’

Greg smiled at him, an actual smile. It seemed Mycroft Holmes was the only man who could make Greg do that. ‘Dinner sounds great,’ he said. He’d only had two beers to John’s nine.

‘Excellent,’ Mycroft said and took out his BlackBerry

 

{oOo}

 

They ate at a small restaurant, the first Greg had been in since his boring date almost a year ago.

‘This is nice,’ Greg said halfway through his steak. He was actually feeling okay; he didn’t want to run home screaming and Mycroft was great company.

Mycroft smiled and raised his wine glass. ‘To friends getting drunk.’

Greg chuckled and raised his own drink. ‘To John Watson.’


	6. Sherlock Holmes Thinks...

Sherlock thinks he knows everything... nothing new there. But he didn’t know how John would react to his death and subsequent disappearance. He also didn’t know that John was in love with him. He really didn’t know that John was very much okay having sex with another man...

... but he quite enjoyed being wrong about that.

He was absolutely horrid the following weeks, grinning at John and making the poor doctor blush. Greg just beared it all with his usual charm and gruffness until Sherlock scowled at him.

‘You’re just jealous.’

‘Of...?’ Greg tried. He was tired, had been working the past four days (nothing new there either) and wanted this wrapped up with as little Sherlock-ness as possible.

‘I have someone and you don’t.’

‘I don’t want anyone,’ Greg told him. Sherlock just smirked at him in that knowing way of his. ‘I don’t, honestly.’

‘Mm, yes, of course not,’ Sherlock said.

‘Sherlock, why are you being annoying?’ Greg asked. ‘No, why are you being _more_ annoying than usual?’

‘Am I?’ Sherlock asked, smiling at him.

Greg sighed. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered.

‘I know you want a certain someone,’ Sherlock said, ‘and you know it too.’ Greg turned to look at him. ‘Apparently, though, it’s not obvious to him,’ Sherlock said. ‘I suppose he has a blind spot when it comes to you.’

Greg scowled. ‘What the bloody hell are you on about?’

Sherlock grinned. ‘Nothing, dear Detective.’

And then he stomped off to do whatever it was he did to get the case solved (Greg really tried his hardest to pretend he wasn’t aware of Sherlock’s law-breaking habits).

‘Sherlock!’ Greg shouted.

Sherlock smiled over his shoulder. ‘I know everything!’

‘You think you know everything,’ Greg grumbled. He didn’t want anyone, there was no one in his life to want apart from Sherlock and John and they were taken.

Greg sighed and headed out of the building for a cigarette.


	7. Mycroft Holmes Knows...

Greg was feeling downright terrible a few hours after his and Sherlock’s... whatever that was. They’d caught the killer in the end, just not fast enough. He’d killed a four-year-old girl.

Greg had sent the rest of his team home and sat hunched over his desk, staring at the paperwork and photos of the scene. Sherlock was in hospital with a broken foot, John down in the cells after attacking and nearly killing the suspect after the guy himself had killed the girl and attacked Sherlock. Greg knew Mycroft Holmes would get John out, it was only a matter of time and really Greg didn’t mind that John had broken the killer’s legs. The fucker deserved it.

His shoulders shaking were the first indicator that he wasn’t quite alright. The sniffs followed and then the burning behind his eyes. The tears didn’t fall until Greg heard his office door open. Mycroft stood across the room looking at Greg, own mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes running up and down Greg slowly.

Greg broke down then and cried. Mycroft crossed the room to stand beside Greg and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s okay,’ the politician murmured.

‘No it’s not,’ Greg managed to sob. ‘Nothing’s alright, I’m sick of it.’

Mycroft pulled him closer. ‘Sick of what?’ he asked softly.

‘Life,’ Greg cried. ‘My ex-wife and my daughter and work and Sherlock and... I just can’t do it anymore, M-Mycroft. It’s so h-hard getting out of bed every day...’ He cried harder, trailing off and whimpering.

Mycroft pulled him in close and held Greg tightly as the DI sobbed into his expensive jacket and waistcoat. He hummed under his breath, words that Greg didn’t hear but that calmed him all the same. Mycroft’s long, pale fingers ran through his hair and soothed him while the man’s strong presence made his body feel warm.

‘Life can be difficult, Gregory,’ Mycroft said softly. ‘The important thing is to keep fighting.’

‘F-for what?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft leaned back and smiled at him, a truly wonderful smile that melted Greg’s heart. ‘For work and holidays, for watching cricket and drinking beer with your friends,’ he said and Greg managed a weak smile. ‘Keep fighting for disastrous dates your friends set you up on.’ Greg chuckled. ‘Fight for drunken nights at the pub with men who say they’re not gay and then snog your little brother.’

Greg gave him a proper giggle then.

‘Fight for catching the killer, Gregory, for making the world a better place,’ Mycroft said and pulled back more. He smiled down at Greg. ‘And most importantly, fight for the people you love and for the people who love you.’

Greg looked at him. ‘No one loves me.’

Mycroft tisked. ‘Your ex-wife still loves you, Gregory, you are still the father of her child. Lorelai loves you because you’re a wonderful father. Dimmock and Donovan love you because you’re a good colleague and fantastic boss. Sherlock loves you because you put up with him and help him and John loves you because you’re his best friend.’

He paused then, blue eyes raking over Greg carefully.

‘I know all of this, Gregory, and remember that I’m a genius.’

Greg smiled.

‘I also know, without a doubt,’ Mycroft said slowly, hand tightening on Greg’s shoulder, ‘that I love you too.’

Greg blinked through the tears, sure he hadn’t heard Mycroft right. ‘What?’

‘I love you,’ Mycroft repeated.

‘N-no...’ Greg shook his head. ‘Why... why would you love me?’

‘I just gave you a few very good reasons.’

‘Those were reasons why other people love me,’ Greg pointed out, ‘not why you would.’

Mycroft smiled and Greg now realised it was the most dazzling thing he’d seen in years.

‘True,’ the politician said and leaned back against Greg’s desk to fold his arms. ‘I love you, Gregory, because you keep fighting,’ he said. ‘I love you because you’re strong and smart and capable of many things. You got through your divorce, you’re there for your daughter, and you go on dates to please your friends. You watch cricket and drink beer and let John Watson ramble on about my brother’s arse.’

Greg smiled and Mycroft looked him over carefully.

‘I love everything about you, Gregory,’ Mycroft said. ‘I don’t care if you feel the same but... if you do, I would very much like to take you to dinner and remind you of why you should keep fighting.’

Greg was silent, mulling over Mycroft’s words. He thought back to what Sherlock had said earlier that day, the knowing look the consulting detective had had. Oh... right, of course... Sherlock had known, even when Greg hadn’t, that the DI wanted Mycroft Holmes.

He did... he very much did. He had fun with Mycroft, Mycroft made him smile and laugh and generally feel like life was worth living.

Greg looked up into Mycroft’s eyes and could see the love there. And then Mycroft smiled and Greg knew the politician could see that his feelings were returned.

Slowly Mycroft took Greg’s hands and pulled the DI up. He wiped the tears away with his thumbs before leaning forward carefully and pressing their lips together.

And that... that was what Gregory Lestrade was fighting for.


	8. Gregory Lestrade Wants...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Men kissing, oral sex, rimming, and general smuttyness.

Greg woke up in Mycroft’s bed. They hadn’t had sex, or even dinner, because Greg had tired himself out from work and crying. They _had_ spent a good half-an-hour making out in Greg’s office until he yawned and Mycroft insisted he needed to rest.

He’d taken Greg to his because the DI couldn’t bear to go home to his own flat. Mycroft had stripped him to his boxers and put him to bed. Greg had cried again, mostly because he was tired and over emotional. Mycroft had just held him tightly and kissed him softly before he finally fell asleep.

Greg turned to see that Mycroft was still asleep, one arm draped over Greg, the other tucked under his face. Mycroft slept like Greg; curled up, hugging himself, like at any given moment he’d fall apart completely.

Greg rolled over and Mycroft woke quickly, blinking back sleep and scrubbing a hand across his face.

‘Morning,’ Greg said.

‘Good morning, Gregory,’ Mycroft replied, polite even when half-naked and yawning.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Crying,’ Greg said, ‘even after all those things you said.’

Mycroft smiled and ran his hand up and down Greg’s naked side, the DI shivering slightly under his touch. ‘It doesn’t matter, Greg. Sometimes life becomes too much, I understand that.’

Greg looked at him. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you meant everything you said?’

‘Of course,’ Mycroft said and pulled Greg in for a kiss. His lips were warm and wet, Greg groaning and wrapping his free arm around the politician. Mycroft dragged him closer, chests pressed together and crotches bumping nicely.

Greg opened his mouth, not caring about morning breath or anything other than getting Mycroft Holmes’ tongue into his mouth.

Fortunately Mycroft thought the same thing and his tongue thoroughly plundered Greg’s mouth, stroking and flicking and searching and doing everything to turn Greg on like mad.

Greg stroked one hand from Mycroft’s thigh, to his hip, up his side and over his ribs and back until he got to the man’s neck. His fingernails dragged lightly across the short hairs at the back of Mycroft’s neck and the taller man groaned into Greg’s mouth, hips thrusting forward in an aim to get more friction.

Greg moved up, fingers now weaving through Mycroft’s wavy rust-coloured hair, stroking and pulling and twisting. Mycroft was moaning again, eyes shut tight as he moved to press sloppy kisses to Greg’s jaw and neck. He sucked back on the tanned skin he found and Greg gasped, rutting against the other man lightly.

Greg hadn’t felt this in years, since way before his divorce and depression. He’d had no sex drive at all, hadn’t wanted to find another man to kiss and stroke and fuck. But Mycroft was making his head fuzzy and his heart pump painfully fast. His skin burned and tingled wherever Mycroft touched it and his lips were feeling bruised and swollen.

His legs were twined with Mycroft’s, one knee rubbing at the politician’s arse, the other trapped under Mycroft’s own. His crotch was heating up, cock straining against his boxers and achingly wet. Mycroft’s tongue was spinning circles on his skin, his teeth nipping and lips ghosting over an ear. Dear God did that man know how to use his mouth.

Greg hoisted himself up, pushing Mycroft back so he could straddle the tall man’s hips. Mycroft leaned up and kissed Greg again, lips hard and needy, hips already rolling in an attempt to push against Greg.

Greg thrust himself forward and back, rocking on Mycroft and generally just having a good bloody time. Mycroft was in a pair of black boxer-briefs, the cotton very thin. Greg and Mycroft broke apart for air, both gasping and groaning. Greg looked down to see the outline of Mycroft’s cock, his shaft straining against the thin black material.

‘God,’ Greg groaned and pushed down more. He wanted to see Mycroft naked, he wanted to be fucked and feel the man inside him, but right then he was too far gone to care. He needed to come in the next five minutes or there’d be hell to pay.

Mycroft pulled Greg down so they could kiss again, hot chests pressed together, Mycroft’s arms tight around Greg’s back. Greg’s own wrapped around the elder Holmes and pulled him up while he continued to thrust, knees on either side of Mycroft as he rolled his hips.

The long missed feelings were back, making Greg’s stomach tighten and his head feel fuzzy. Heat was pooling in his gut, his crotch, everywhere really as Mycroft held him close.

‘M-more,’ Mycroft begged against his lips. ‘Faster, p-please.’

Greg could think of nothing better to do then rut against Mycroft Holmes just that little bit faster. The room was filled with their heavy panting, the occasional sloppy sucking noise, and the soft _thud-thud-thud_ as Mycroft’s bed hit the wall.

‘M-Mycroft,’ Greg groaned.

‘I love you,’ Mycroft whimpered, eyes open and locked onto Greg as the DI pushed. ‘I love you, Gregory.’

Greg came with a strangled curse, flopping to rest his head on Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft grabbed his hips and kept him moving, cock softening and feeling tender as Mycroft climaxed beneath him.

Mycroft moved his hands up, stroking Greg’s spine and breathing heavily against the top of his head.

‘Well...’ Mycroft managed after a minute and cleared his throat. ‘That was... lovely.’

Greg smiled and shifted to look at Mycroft. The politician was flushed, hair messy and sweat clinging to his skin. His eyes were still dark with arousal, pink lips swollen and so tasty looking.

He leaned down to kiss Mycroft again. ‘Mm... suppose we should have breakfast?’ Greg mumbled.

‘I’m quite fine here,’ Mycroft murmured against his lips.

Greg grinned. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with Mycroft Holmes for another hour.

So he did.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft made breakfast. He was a good cook. Greg stuffed his face full of chocolate-chip pancakes drizzled with syrup and fruit. He moaned and Mycroft smiled across the table at him, paper open and reading glasses perched on his nose.

Greg scraped a dollop of syrup from his chin and sucked his fingers clean, Mycroft following the movement with rapt attention. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft didn’t even look embarrassed at being caught. He looked up from Greg’s lips slowly and smiled, blue eyes sparkling. ‘Yes, yes I am,’ he said.

Greg grinned and went back to trying to eat a year’s supply of pancakes. When he was done Mycroft rounded the table and sat himself on Greg’s lap, the DI blushing.

‘Erm... hello,’ he said.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Hello.’ He leaned down and kissed Greg softly, Greg groaning and tightening his grip on the younger man’s hips.

‘Do you want to go back to the bedroom?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Don’t you have work?’ Greg managed to mumble, Mycroft sucking back on his jaw lightly.

‘Is that a no?’ he murmured, pulling back to look Greg in the eye.

Greg stared at him for a minute before pushing him to his feet. Greg stood and took one of Mycroft’s hands in his own.

‘Yes, then?’ Mycroft asked as he was towed to his bedroom.

Greg smiled.

 

{oOo}

 

After a quick detour by Greg’s flat, Mycroft dropped Greg off at Scotland Yard. They kissed in the car softly, Greg humming under his breath.

‘Lunch?’ Mycroft asked.

‘You won’t be busy?’ Greg asked.

Mycroft smiled, pulling back to hold Greg’s face. ‘For you I will be perfectly free.’

Greg grinned.

‘I’ll pick you up at twelve,’ Mycroft said and kissed him again.

Greg nodded. ‘M’kay... _or_ we could stay here.’

Mycroft chuckled against him, breath washing over Greg and making him shiver. ‘Gregory, neither of us are teenagers, we can’t spend all day making out in the backseat of my car.’

‘Why not?’

‘For the reason I just stated.’

‘Come on, let’s neck in your car.’

Mycroft tutted and kissed Greg lightly. ‘Work, Detective Inspector.’

Greg groaned. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘I believe you stated quite loudly that I was a lot of fun earlier.’

With a smile, Greg kissed Mycroft again and climbed from the car. He turned to look back at the politician, who’d slid over the seat. ‘Thank you, Mycroft.’

‘For what?’

‘For everything; saying those things last night, letting me stay, making me breakfast, making out.’ Mycroft smiled. ‘I just...’ Greg bit his lip and looked down. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘Not a problem.’

‘I love you,’ Greg said and looked up at him.

Mycroft blinked. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not just saying it because I did?’

Greg bent down to kiss Mycroft, holding onto the door with one hand, Mycroft’s face with the other.

‘Of course not,’ he said when they broke apart. ‘I just didn’t realise how I felt until now. I was so focused on being angry and miserable that I didn’t see how great you were.’

‘And now?’ Mycroft asked tentatively, eyes wide and so innocent looking.

Greg smiled. ‘Now I see that you’re what I want.’ He kissed him again and pulled back. ‘I’ll see you at lunch?’

Mycroft blinked before licking his lips, like he could still taste Greg on them. ‘Y-yes.’

‘Ha, got you ruffled,’ Greg said and slammed the door before Mycroft could reply. The car turned onto the road and Greg headed inside. His mobile buzzed when he stepped from the elevator.

 

 _I was not ruffled – Mycroft_  

 

Greg grinned and pocketed his phone.

‘Oh my God.’

He turned at the sound of Sally’s voice. ‘What?’ he said as she followed him to his office.

‘You’re all... smiley.’

Greg realised he was still grinning. ‘Yeah, I am.’

Sally raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’

‘’Cause I’m happy.’

She stopped in his doorway, hands pressed against the wood either side. ‘That’s... good, Greg. I’m glad.’

Greg smiled and sat down. For the first time in a year he didn’t feel pissed off that he had paperwork.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft arrived at 12 on the dot. Greg was having a smoke outside the building, laughing with Dimmock and a few other DI’s. He ground it out with the heel of his shoe as soon as he saw the car. Mycroft stepped from it and smiled at Greg as the DI walked to him.

Not caring that people were watching (well maybe caring, if only so he could show off that he’d bagged Mycroft Holmes), Greg threw his arms around the taller man and kissed him hotly, pushing their bodies together and eliciting a groan from the mysterious elder Holmes.

Mycroft gasped as they broke apart, a lot of people staring, people like Dimmock grinning because Greg actually looked happy. ‘Erm...’ Mycroft managed after a second, ‘h-hello.’

‘Hi,’ Greg smiled.

‘I take this to mean that we are, ‘going public’?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg frowned and fell back. ‘Oh... did you not want to?’

Mycroft drew him in quickly, pressing kisses to Greg’s neck. ‘No, I do,’ he said, ‘but it may be hard to keep it appropriate.’

Greg grinned and closed his eyes as his jaw was assaulted by Mycroft’s skilled tongue. ‘Mm...’

‘I might just take you right here, right now,’ Mycroft purred and Greg felt himself go hard. He gulped as Mycroft pulled away, smiling.

‘Er... sorry...’

‘Not a problem,’ Mycroft said and gestured to the open car door. ‘After you, my dear.’

Greg chuckled and climbed into the car. When Mycroft got in and the door was shut, he launched himself at the younger man, assaulting him with his tongue and lips. Mycroft groaned and tried to pull Greg closer but the DI fell to sit.

‘You deserved it,’ Greg said to Mycroft’s flushed face.

The politician chuckled.

 

{oOo}

 

They ate at a small cafe, Mycroft’s BlackBerry buzzing every five seconds. Greg would look up at him and Mycroft would calmly text whoever had been calling before lowering his phone again.

‘You can go if you need to,’ Greg said, gesturing over his plate at the mobile.

‘I don’t need to go anywhere,’ Mycroft said, sipping his coffee.

Greg sighed. ‘Mycroft, you’re an important man, I know you’re busy. I’m not gonna be upset if you have to work.’

Mycroft just regarded him from across the table, head slightly tilted, coffee raised to his lips.

‘Mycroft?’

‘I want to stay here with you,’ Mycroft said and took another slow sip. He lowered the cup to its saucer and smiled at Greg. ‘And I always get what I want.’

Greg blinked before he felt a slow blush creep up his face. ‘Is... is that so?’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘And you want... to stay here... with me?’

Mycroft tutted. ‘I did just say that, Gregory.’ Greg stared at him. ‘Why do you find that so hard to believe?’

‘Just... no one ever wants to be with me,’ Greg shrugged. Mycroft reached across the table and quickly took Greg’s hand. He threaded their fingers together and squeezed tightly. ‘Mycroft?’

‘I want to be with you,’ Mycroft said firmly. ‘Everyone else is an idiot.’

Greg smiled. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded.

‘So you get what you want and know everything?’

‘Yes.’

Greg felt a grin tug at his lips and chuckled. ‘M’kay, whatever you say.’

Mycroft smiled and leaned back to finish his coffee. But he didn’t remove his hand from Greg’s. And that... that was just fine with Gregory.

 

{oOo}

 

They shared another passionate kiss outside Scotland Yard, Donovan shouting at Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, Dimmock having a smoke.

Greg saw Sherlock, Sherlock saw Greg, but that didn’t stop the DI from hauling Mycroft Holmes close for a good snog. He heard Sherlock’s shouted indignation, Donovan’s clap, Dimmock’s whistle, and John’s chuckle. What he focused on, though, was Mycroft’s very audible moan and the way one hand fisted in his hair, the other in his jacket.

‘Gregory...’ Mycroft whispered when they broke apart.

‘Mm?’

‘We are in public.’

‘Mm?’

Mycroft smiled and kissed him softly. ‘I’ll pick you up tonight.’

‘Will you now?’ Greg asked and Mycroft nodded. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Mycroft chuckled, kissed him again, and climbed into his car. Greg watched it go before turning to see that everyone was staring at him. He blushed and Donovan said, ‘Congratulations, sir.’

‘Th-thanks,’ Greg managed.

‘Who was that?’ Dimmock asked.

‘That was disgusting!’ Sherlock snapped. ‘Why do you and Mycroft feel the need to broadcast your relationship to me?’

‘All we did was kiss,’ Sherlock,’ Greg said.

‘Relax,’ John added.

‘Who’s Mycroft?’ Dimmock asked.

‘All you... that was more than a kiss!’ Sherlock fumed.

‘Hey, what about you and John?’ Greg said. ‘You snog at every crime scene.’

Sherlock’s cheeks turned pink and John grinned. ‘He’s got a point,’ the doctor said.

‘Who’s side are you on?’ Sherlock asked.

‘No one’s,’ John grinned.

‘Who’s Mycroft?’ Dimmock asked again.

‘Sherlock’s brother,’ Greg finally told the young DI. The other man raised his eyebrows.

‘Right...’

‘God, please don’t tell everyone you’re dating my brother,’ Sherlock groaned. ‘It’s bad enough...’

‘I’ll shout it all I goddamn want because he makes me happy,’ Greg said.

Sherlock scowled before turning and storming away, coat flapping dramatically.

‘I’m glad you’re happy, Greg,’ John said. ‘Forget Sherlock.’

‘Already forgotten,’ Greg smiled.

‘JOHN!’

‘Coming, love,’ John chuckled and waved. He strolled after Sherlock, the genius fuming a few steps away. He grabbed John’s hand and dragged him along, John giggling.

Greg smiled and watched them leave, unaware Dimmock and Donovan were staring him, both grinning at the look on the DI’s face.

 

{oOo}

 

True to his word, Mycroft picked Greg up from Scotland Yard. He was suddenly just there in his office, leaning against the doorframe and smiling. Greg grinned and signed one last document before standing and grabbing his coat.

He was in the process of shouldering it on when Mycroft grabbed the garment, pinning Greg’s hands to his back.

‘Er...’

Mycroft smiled and leaned down to kiss him softly, lips barely grazing the DI’s and breath washing over him. Greg moaned loudly as Mycroft pulled back.

‘What was that?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg blinked and looked up at him, feeling dazed. ‘Um... can’t remember.’

Mycroft smiled and kissed him again, a little harder this time but nowhere near as hard as Greg wanted it.

‘Mycroft,’ he whined as the politician moved away.

‘Mm?’

‘Please?’

‘Please...?’

Greg frowned at him and tried to break free but Mycroft had his arms pinned. He was a surprisingly strong man. ‘Please, I want you to kiss me properly.’

‘Oh, is that what you want?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Very well.’

He wrapped his right arm around Greg and hauled him in close, bodies pushing together tightly and faces millimetres apart. Mycroft ran his free hand up Greg’s arm, across his shoulder, his neck, until he was cupping the DI’s cheek. He smiled down at him and leaned forward.

Their lips met in a bruising kiss and Greg groaned. His arms were still trapped and he could do little but stand there, body up against Mycroft’s while the taller man assaulted his mouth. When he pulled back Greg decided to give Mycroft a taste of his own medicine.

He stood on his toes and caught Mycroft’s lips again, the taller man gasping as Greg sucked the bottom one into his mouth and licked broad strokes with his tongue. Mycroft moaned loudly as Greg released his lip, only to plunge his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth and explore every inch he could fine.

Mycroft felt his knees go weak and he grabbed onto Greg for support, arm tightening and hand leaving the DI’s face. Instead he curled it through Greg’s spiky grey hair, twisting the strands and yanking Greg’s head up.

Greg gasped and gulped as Mycroft licked at his neck, sucking back on the tanned skin and finding the one spot that had Greg moaning a bit too loudly.

‘F-fuck,’ Greg mumbled.

Mycroft bit into his neck delicately, tongue swirling and blue eyes dark with lust. He licked back up to Greg’s lips and sucked back, trying to memorise the feel and texture, the heat and wetness and taste. He never wanted to forget what Gregory Lestrade tasted like. Greg just tried to remain standing, body thrumming with lust and heat as Mycroft plundered his mouth again.

When they broke apart both men were breathing heavily and Greg had to clear his throat before he could speak. ‘W-wow.’

Mycroft smiled and the hand in Greg’s hair softened to run through the strands. His other hand came up to cup Greg’s cheek, thumb stroking his face.

‘That was...’ Greg tried, only to blink and blush.

‘I hope the ending to that sentence was, ‘fucking marvellous’.’

Greg giggled. ‘Y-yeah, something like that.’

Mycroft smiled and drew back. He helped Greg get into his coat properly before kissing him softly. ‘Come, Gregory, dinner.’

‘You dirty man.’

It took Mycroft a second to realise what Greg was saying and then he blushed. Greg decided that flushed Mycroft was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft scowled, looking away, cheeks still pink.

‘Love you,’ Greg said and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Come, Mycroft, I want dinner.’

Mycroft chuckled and allowed Greg to pull him from the office.

 

{oOo}

 

They’d just stepped out of Mycroft’s car when someone shouted, ‘Holmes!’

Mycroft turned and a flicker of annoyance crossed his face before he was grinning, Greg marvelling at his ability to fake emotions.

‘Townsend, lovely to see you,’ Mycroft said as a tall man approached them. He was still shorter then Mycroft and a bit older, with oily black hair and dark green eyes. He was dressed in an expensive suit, arm around a young blonde woman.

 _They’re always blonde_ , Greg thought as the man shook Mycroft’s hand.

‘You too, old boy,’ Townsend said. ‘Hear about Crieff up in Scotland?’

‘Yes, terrible business,’ Mycroft said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t interested.

‘Yes, yes, absolutely,’ Townsend nodded, completely ignoring Greg as he gestured to the woman with him. ‘This is Eliza, my secretary.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Eliza,’ Mycroft nodded at the young woman. ‘What happened to Angela?’

Townsend smirked. ‘Good help is hard to find, Holmes.’ The top of Mycroft’s lip curled very slightly but Townsend didn’t notice. ‘Where’s yours then?’

‘Anthea is a very busy woman,’ Mycroft said.

‘And usually attached to your hip,’ Townsend said and raised an eyebrow, a vile smile spread across his features.

Mycroft’s lip definitely curled this time into a grimace. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying, Townsend.’

‘Come now, she’s gorgeous, you’re not married,’ Townsend said and wet his lips. ‘What’s a bit of sharing between two colleagues?’

Greg definitely didn’t like Townsend. Not only had he ignored Greg for the past five minutes, but he was clearly a serial adulterer (wedding ring on his finger) and wanted to talk about sex in a public place in front of his assistant.

‘I assure you that there is nothing between Anthea and I but professionalism,’ Mycroft said and stepped closer to Greg. Suddenly his arm reached out to wind around Greg’s waist and he tugged the DI close.

Townsend seemed to only just notice Greg. ‘Oh, hello.’ He eyed Greg carefully, taking in the messy grey hair, tired face and off-the-rack suit.

‘This is Gregory,’ Mycroft said and smiled down at Greg.

‘Townsend,’ the other man said and made no motion to shake Greg’s hand. Greg didn’t want to touch the arsehole anyway.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Greg said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

‘I haven’t seen you around,’ Townsend cocked his head.

‘Gregory and I are here on personal matters,’ Mycroft said, nodding at the restaurant behind the other politician.

‘Personal...?’ Townsend began.

‘A date,’ Mycroft said, ‘it’s something that two people go on when they care about each other.’

‘And you know, aren’t married,’ Greg added before he could help himself. He pressed his lips together tightly but Mycroft was chuckling.

‘I didn’t realise...’ Townsend said slowly, looking from Greg to Mycroft.

‘That I’m gay? Yes, well, I am,’ Mycroft smiled. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather be sitting across from Gregory with some lovely wine then standing out here discussing my sexuality. If you’ll excuse us.’

He tugged Greg past a shocked Townsend, the man’s secretary smirking as Greg and Mycroft entered the restaurant. It was big and fancy but somehow seemed cosy and romantic. Their coats were taken and they were led to a small table in the corner. Mycroft pulled Greg’s seat out for him, the DI blushing as he fell to sit.

‘That was... weird,’ he said as Mycroft sat across from him.

The politician smiled, taking his napkin and folding it across his crossed legs. ‘Townsend is a vile man.’

‘Yeah, he is.’ Greg said.

‘Unfortunately, its men like that I have to deal with on a daily basis,’ Mycroft said and picked up his menu. ‘But let’s not talk about that, I’d much rather discuss the merits of sharing a dessert.’

Greg cocked his head and grabbed his own menu. ‘Dessert?’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft nodded, eyes locking onto Greg’s slowly. ‘I rather like the idea of licking chocolate mousse from your lips.’

Greg blushed and quickly busied himself with his own menu. Greg got a steak, Mycroft pasta, and when the waiter asked if they wanted dessert, Greg kept his eyes on Mycroft as he said, ‘I want a chocolate mousse.’

Mycroft smiled broadly as the waiter nodded and disappeared. Their drinks appeared moments later and Greg raised his.

‘To chocolate mousse.’

‘To men allowing you to lick it off them,’ Mycroft said.

Greg blushed again and clinked their glasses together, Mycroft smiling.

 

{oOo}

 

It was everything a date should be; there was laughter and tears and smiles and a foot ending up in a crotch (that was Mycroft, not Greg; the politician was a lost dirtier then Greg first thought). They ate chocolate mousse together and eventually were asked to leave the restaurant. Well, not really asked so much as, ‘Would sirs like their bill now?’ Mycroft Holmes didn’t get kicked out of restaurants, no matter how dirty he was being.

Once in the car, Mycroft took Greg’s hand and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. ‘Would it be too forward of me to ask you to stay at my flat tonight?’

Greg grinned and threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s. ‘Well, seeing as how I’ve already spent the night wrapped up half-naked with you, fully naked wouldn’t be forward in the least.’

Mycroft blushed and tapped on the partition, asking to be driven to his flat.

 

{oOo}

 

They talked softly over glasses of scotch, Mycroft’s foot getting more and more excited as it stroked its way up and down Greg’s leg. An hour after arriving at Mycroft’s flat, Greg put his drink aside and took Mycroft’s too. The DI stood and held out his hand, Mycroft smiling as he took it.

Greg pulled Mycroft up and led the politician to his own room, closing the door and turning. Mycroft pushed him against it, attacking Greg’s neck in earnest and making the older man groan.

Mycroft kissed his way up to Greg’s lips but stopped before pushing them together. ‘Gregory...’

‘What?’

‘I love you, always remember that,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled at him. ‘I love you too, Mycroft.’

‘Do you want to stop?’

‘Fuck no.’

Mycroft grinned and kissed him. It was everything a kiss should be; hot and hard, filled with love and tongue and Mycroft’s hot breath. Greg never wanted it to end, he wanted to kiss Mycroft all day every day. The things that man could do with his tongue and teeth... God, Greg really was lucky.

Mycroft began pulling at Greg’s buttons, both of them having shed their coats and jackets at the door. Mycroft was still in his waistcoat and Greg wasted no time in attacking it, starting on the man’s buttons just as Mycroft got his shirt free.

Warm, soft hands rubbed at Greg’s stomach and chest, fingers grazing a nipple and making Greg shiver. Mycroft’s lips were back on Greg’s and the older man had to rely on touch alone to try and get Mycroft’s waistcoat off, made more complicated when Mycroft ripped his shirt free.

The material pooled on the floor and Greg’s back made contact with the cold wooden door, the man gasping into his partner’s mouth as Mycroft tweaked a nipple. Greg had abandoned trying to get Mycroft’s waistcoat off in favour of clawing at the man’s back and hair, fingers pushing through Mycroft’s rust-coloured hair as Mycroft attacked his lips and gripped his shoulders.

He was amazingly strong for such a thin and well-mannered man, fingers digging into Greg’s skin and entire body pressed against the DI’s. Greg couldn’t move even if he’d wanted to.

Mycroft’s lips left his and his hot tongue licked a wet trail to Greg’s right ear. He took the lobe between his lips, sucking back and breathing heavily in his ear. All Greg was capable of was a moan, holding Mycroft’s head in place with one hand, the other scratching at the door behind him.

Mycroft was devilishly talented, attacking erogenous zones Greg didn’t even know he had. There was a spot just below Greg’s ear that had him hard in seconds, cock straining against his trousers as Mycroft sucked back, teeth grazing the sensitive skin and making Greg’s body tingle.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he moaned, fingers tightening in Mycroft’s hair.

Mycroft chuckled against him, lips moving down to follow the arch of Greg’s neck, the older man having turned his head in an attempt to get Mycroft to bite and lick and suck more.

‘Do you like that?’ Mycroft asked, heavy breathing the only sign that he was in any way moved by what they were doing.

Greg whimpered and nodded.

‘Do you want me to do it again?’ Mycroft asked, breathing across Greg’s wet skin and making another shudder of pleasure roll across the DI’s body.

‘G-God, yes.’

Mycroft smiled and nipped his way along Greg’s jaw, the shorter man’s stubble rough on his lips and tongue.

Greg hadn’t had much of a sex drive the past few years but that all seemed different now. His body was alight with pleasure, Mycroft’s tongue and teeth and lips and body and everything making him moan and ache for more. He was harder then he’d been in years, lips parted as he gasped for air, eyes squeezed shut as his neck was once more assaulted by the tall politician.

Mycroft’s hands, previously holding Greg against the door, began to move. One snaked its way up to his hair, twisting in harsh movements and making pain slice through the DI’s head to mix wonderfully with the pleasure he was feeling. The other ghosted down his chest, playing with his dark chest hair before tweaking an erect nipple.

Greg groaned, head thumping back against the door as Mycroft twisted Greg’s skin in his teeth. He was properly biting now, teeth sinking into his soft flesh and making Greg moan and curse. His hand continued down his naked front, circling his bellybutton before suddenly dropping.

Greg was properly shouting now as Mycroft cupped his erection, squeezing through his trousers and fingering the covered length.

‘M-Mycroft,’ Greg mumbled, trying to open his eyes and blink through the stars. He was still mostly dressed, Mycroft weirdly still completely dressed, and Greg was so close to coming already. It was setting him on edge, teeth gritted as Mycroft pushed hard, their crotches rubbing together and sending another bolt of ecstasy through the DI’s quivering form.

‘Mm?’ Mycroft murmured, sounding as polite and aloof as usual. He pulled back to look at Greg and the DI could see it; Mycroft’s usually bright blue eyes were dark with lust, his cheeks pink and his breathing heavy. He licked his lips and looked Greg over carefully, body poised as if ready to strike.

‘Please, no more teasing,’ Greg said. ‘Need you, naked, now.’

Mycroft smiled slowly, coyly, making Greg groan again and bite his bottom lip. ‘Are you sure?’

Greg nodded.

‘Very well, Gregory.’

Mycroft pulled back and dragged Greg to his rather large bed, pushing the DI onto his back and standing between his legs. Mycroft took his time, pulling his waistcoat off and folding it neatly on the dresser. Greg gnawed on his bottom lip, close to drawing blood as he watched Mycroft slip from his shirt.

The man was beautiful; slim, pale, with a dusting of freckles along his shoulders and arms. He had ginger chest hair that trailed down to his bellybutton and further. He stretched, imposing his full height on Greg and making the DI whimper.

With a small smirk, Mycroft began on his trousers, fingers sure and delicate as he unbuckled his belt, leather trailing through his fingers slowly before he popped his top button.

‘M-Mycroft,’ Greg groaned.

‘Hush, Gregory,’ Mycroft smiled, chuckling when Greg groaned and thumped his head onto the bed.

Mycroft slipped from his shoes and toed his socks off, Greg’s eyes wide as he finally slid from his trousers.

He had strong thighs, hair a light blonde-red in the softly lit room. He was pale, of course, and wearing black cotton boxer-briefs, the same brand as the night before.

Greg groaned again, mouth feeling dry as Mycroft hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear. He stopped then and Greg looked up to see the politician staring at him, eyebrow raised.

‘What?’

‘It seems unfair for me to be in my underwear while you still have your shoes and trousers on, Gregory,’ Mycroft said calmly.

Greg rolled his eyes but kicked his shoes off, attacking his belt and managing to get his pants down. Now he and Mycroft were equal, Greg in boxers, Mycroft in briefs.

‘I believe it’s common courtesy for the host to get naked first,’ Greg said, proud that he could get out an entire sentence when only minutes ago he’d been a whining mess.

Mycroft smiled and pulled his briefs down.

‘God,’ Greg groaned, mouth watering as he took in the sight of Mycroft’s rather impressive erection. He was bigger and thicker then Greg, at least eleven inches long. As with the rest of the hair on his body, his pubic hair was ginger and curled, Greg wanting to bury his face in it.

So he did just that, sitting up and grabbing Mycroft before the politician could stop him.

‘Gregor– _God_!’ Mycroft whimpered as Greg wrapped his lips around his cock, right hand holding the base of his erection, left grabbing Mycroft’s hip. His fingers dug into Mycroft’s pale flesh as the politician grabbed Greg by the back of the head, holding him in place as his cock slid into the older man’s mouth.

Greg had definitely missed this and groaned as pre-come trickled into his mouth, coating his tongue and making him lap at the tip for more. Mycroft’s length was hot and hard, sliding along Greg’s tongue wonderfully and filling his mouth completely.

Mycroft wet his lips and looked down, eyes half-closed, expression glazed as he pushed in a little more, stretching Greg’s mouth and filling him. Greg groaned, grip on Mycroft’s hip tightening as he sucked back.

Mycroft gasped, forcing more of his cock into Greg’s mouth, head hitting the back of his throat. Greg swallowed, stimulating his head and making Mycroft shudder, knees feeling weak. He had to put a hand on the dresser, leaning against it heavily as he pulled his hips back.

Greg let his cock slide half out before he grabbed Mycroft’s arse, kneading the soft flesh and pulling Mycroft in. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked more, breathing through his nose as he managed to finally burry his nose in Mycroft’s pubic hair.

He smelled like man and sex and God, the cologne he wore was making Greg’s skin tingle. Mycroft just moaned as Greg continued to suck him off, nails scratching at his cheeks and lips pulling at his cock.

‘Greg...’ Mycroft whimpered, thrusting in a bit more forcefully, fingers curled in his hair.

‘Mmf,’ Greg managed, mouth filled with cock. He looked up, eyes glazed and dark with lust. Mycroft smiled at him before pulling out, falling from Greg’s lips with a very wet sound.

He pushed the DI back, grabbing his boxers at the same time and tearing them down. Greg kicked them free as Mycroft shimmied down his body, licking and kissing at his tanned skin before reaching his cock.

Mycroft wrapped his lips around Greg, the DI groaning and thrusting up into that hot, wet cavern. Mycroft proved to be talented at sucking cock, taking Greg deeply and slowly, sucking back and licking at the underside of his cock every time he pulled back. He pressed kisses to Greg’s shaft every time he let go, licking up and down his length before sucking on his testicles.

Greg groaned and fisted his fingers in Mycroft’s hair, trying to pull him back to his dripping erection when Mycroft nibbled on his thigh.

‘M-Mycroft,’ he begged.

‘Mm?’

Mycroft seemed determined to drive Greg insane as he sucked back on his skin, trailing very light fingers over his cock, thumbing Greg’s weeping slit.

‘Mycroft, please,’ Greg groaned.

‘Sorry?’ Mycroft asked, looking up at him and smiling.

‘Fuck you,’ Greg said, his words turning into a very loud gasp when Mycroft sucked back on his cock again. ‘Jesus Christ, fuck you!’

Mycroft chuckled around his cock, lapping at the head and generally doing marvellous things with his very talented tongue. A few more sucks and Greg was close to coming. Mycroft circled his fingers around the base of Greg’s cock and squeezed, the DI’s orgasm instantly dying and being replaced with a rush of anger and need and general lust.

‘Mycroft!’

Mycroft pulled back completely and grabbed Greg, flipping the DI onto his stomach.

‘Shit,’ Greg gasped.

‘Tisk, tisk, officer,’ Mycroft said, pressing himself firmly against Greg’s back. His cock slid between Greg’s cheek, eliciting another moan as Greg bit at the sheets beneath his face.

‘Mmf.’

Mycroft smiled and pressed kissed to Greg’s neck, moving down his spine with lips and tongue and hands and–

‘Oh,’ Greg groaned when Mycroft’s firm hands lifted his hips, making Greg rest on his forearms and knees. He rubbed Greg’s cheeks before splitting them, running his tongue up Greg’s crack and... yes, Greg moaned again.

He lapped at Greg’s puckered entrance, the DI rutting back softly in an aim to get Mycroft’s tongue closer.

‘FUCK!’ he shouted when Mycroft penetrated him, breaching his muscles swiftly and fucking him with his tongue. Greg could only curse and push back, Mycroft’s tongue curling in him so wonderfully as he spread his cheeks wider, nails digging into his tanned skin. ‘Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!’

He could feel Mycroft smiling against him, lips sucking back as his tongue pulled out to lick around his entrance. And then he plunged back in, pulling Greg back and pushing his face roughly against Greg’s heated body.

Greg was a mess now, sweating and whimpering, face bright red and lips swollen and sore from kissing and biting. His eyes were tearing up, his cock leaking profusely against his stomach as he rutted against Mycroft’s face.

‘M-Myc...’ Greg groaned.

‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked, breathing heavily against his arse.

‘Need you.’

‘You need me?’

‘I want you, please,’ Greg begged.

Mycroft smiled and pressed soft kisses to Greg’s cheeks before making him turn again, Greg thumping heavily against the bed. Mycroft leaned back and opened his top drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. Greg groaned loudly and Mycroft smiled, the DI grabbing a pillow and stuffing it behind his back as Mycroft slicked up his fingers.

He pushed Greg’s legs open, kneeling between them. One hand grabbed the DI’s arse, lifting his hips off the bed as a finger pushed in.

‘Fuck!’ Greg shouted, lifting his hips higher as Mycroft pushed his index finger all the way in. He was extremely tight, not having been fucked in a good twenty years. He moaned and cussed, clawing at his legs and the bed as Mycroft began thrusting softly.

Mycroft just watched Greg, cataloguing all the noises and faces he made, loving the way Greg’s head thrust back into the pillow, how his chest rose and fell with each desperate breath. His legs were quivering, straining at having to keep his hips up as Mycroft forced another finger in.

He truly was beautiful and Mycroft hated that he hadn’t been appreciated for how wonderful he was. He hated that Greg had spent so many years being trodden on and pushed around.

Not now, though. No, now Greg would be treated like the gorgeous man he was. Mycroft would spend hours, weeks, years appreciating Greg’s body and making him feel endless amounts of pleasure. Greg deserved to be appreciated, he deserved to be fucked into a pleasure oblivion. If Greg was okay with it, Mycroft would spend the rest of his life showing Greg just how great the DI was.

Mycroft waited until he had three fingers in the older man before twisting them, searching for that cluster of nerves that would–

 ‘Jesus FUCK!’ Greg shouted, forcing his hips down in an aim to get that feeling back, to get Mycroft to touch his prostate again. The pleasure stampeding through his body was like nothing Greg had felt before. Mycroft had sex like he did everything; calm, collected, with great concentration and the ability to manipulate the parties involved into anything he wanted.

Right then he was manipulating Greg alright, forcing the DI to curse and stutter and suck in lungfuls of air whenever he stopped moaning. He stabbed his fingers into Greg’s prostate again, free hand wrapping around the older man’s cock and pulling.

‘My-My-Myc...’ Greg couldn’t get his name out, he was too far gone. He was so close to coming, so very close to tipping over the edge and coming all over his stomach because of a few fingers.

But Mycroft wasn’t done and his fingers slipped out wetly, spreading lube along Greg’s thighs as he sat up.

‘Oh God,’ Greg groaned, tears burning in his eyes. He needed to come, no, he _had_ to come; he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Mycroft could tell and quickly slicked his cock, making sure he was wet enough before moving between Greg’s legs. He bent down to kiss the DI softly, lips warm and wet against Greg’s bruised ones.

Greg opened his eyes and looked up, looked into Mycroft’s eyes and heart and very soul. What passed between them in that moment made tears burn behind Mycroft’s eyes and he blinked.

Greg raised a hand, moving to cup Mycroft’s cheek and stroke gently. ‘I love you,’ he said.

‘I love you too, Gregory,’ Mycroft replied.

‘Now please stick your cock in me.’

Mycroft chuckled and gave Greg another kiss before pushing in. Greg swore against his lips, gasping for air as Mycroft’s long, thick cock penetrated him completely, grazing his prostate and filling him more than he ever had been before.

‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ Greg moaned under his breath, shifting beneath Mycroft to get comfortable. He wrapped his legs around the politician, sweat making it hard but not impossible to keep Mycroft close. His body ached and burned, mind completely focused on how wonderful it felt to have another man inside him, _this_ man. To know that Mycroft Holmes loved him and wanted him in every way possible was almost enough to make Greg blow right then and there... almost. ‘Move, please, move, move, _move_.’

Mycroft hovered over Greg as he pulled back, cock half sliding out before being thrust back in. Greg cussed again, one hand threading through his own hair, the other scratching at Mycroft’s neck and back.

Mycroft set up a slow rhythm, cock sliding past Greg’s tight ring of muscles over and over again. He snapped his hips every time he was fully encased in Greg’s heat, burying himself in deeper and hitting his prostate.

‘God, Gregory,’ Mycroft moaned and for the first time that night his composure cracked. His lips were parted in a silent moan, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure assaulted his body.

Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hips, leaning back on his feet as he dragged the DI across the bed. Both men groaned as Mycroft slammed into Greg, upping his pace and hitting Greg’s prostate with each thrust.

Greg arched his back, pushing down on the bed with both hands as he attempted to get Mycroft deeper and deeper in. He was feeling thoroughly debauched, sweat dripping down his heated body, cock flopping onto his stomach with each of Mycroft’s thrusts.

‘F-fuck, Myc!’ Greg shouted.

Mycroft bent Greg’s legs up this chest, managing to get one hand around his cock to pump in time with his thrusts. Greg groaned and whimpered and generally made a lot of noises unbefitting an upstanding DI as Mycroft fucked him hard. His entire body thrummed and ached, cock now getting the stimulation it needed.

Mycroft pushed off the bed, letting Greg’s legs fall apart and once more wrap around his body as he snapped and rolled his hips. One hand on Greg’s cock, the other fisting in the DI’s hair, Mycroft tipped Greg’s head back and to the side to attack that once spot beneath his right ear–

As soon as Mycroft bit down Greg came, shouting out profanity as an orgasm ripped through him. Everything was just so fucking good, Mycroft continuing to fuck him and pull on his cock, drawing out the best and longest orgasm Greg had ever had.

Greg’s muscles tightened and clenched around Mycroft, drawing out a very loud groan as Mycroft thrust into him, his own orgasm getting closer and closer...

He spilled into Greg no more than ten seconds after the DI had come, shuddering and shaking as his hips faltered, his breathing stopping completely and teeth digging into his lip hard.

‘Jesus _fucking_ hell,’ Greg groaned as Mycroft pulled out, his body aching and generally feeling o-fucking-kay.

Mycroft managed to get to his feet and stumble into the en-suite bathroom, coming back with a warm towel and mopping them both up. Greg was little more than a lump, Mycroft having to manhandle him under the covers and draw him in.

He wrapped an arm around Greg and pulled him in close, front pressed up to the DI’s back. Greg hummed under his breath as Mycroft stoked a hand through his hair and pressed soft kisses to his back.

‘Mm...’ Greg purred.

Mycroft smiled. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

‘Fuck yeah.’

‘Such beautiful language,’ Mycroft murmured, nibbling on Greg’s neck.

‘Mm...’

Mycroft chuckled and drew back, making Greg turn. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ Greg said and yawned before giving Mycroft a kiss. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘For what?’ Mycroft asked.

‘For everything,’ Greg said, trailing his fingers lightly up Mycroft’s arm and shoulder, pressing the pad of his thumb to the man’s freckles and drawing patterns. ‘I was so lost and angry but you... you make everything good.’

‘I do?’

‘Yup.’

‘Good,’ Mycroft smiled and kissed Greg softly. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy, Gregory.’

‘Well you’re doing a fantastic job so far,’ Greg said.

Mycroft laughed. ‘Anything you want, Gregory, I mean it; I’ll give you anything you want.’

Greg rolled over to look at Mycroft properly, propping himself up to lock eyes with the politician. ‘Do you know what I want, Mycroft?’

‘What?’ Mycroft asked, having already vowed to do whatever the DI wanted.

Greg smiled. ‘I want you.’

Mycroft blinked. ‘Oh...’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said quickly. ‘No, no... no.’

Greg chuckled. ‘Good. ’Cause that’s all I want, that’s all I need; you.’ He leaned forward and kissed Mycroft, the politician humming against his lips.

Greg had never really known what he wanted. His wife and work and everyone around him had always told him what he wanted or needed or deserved. Mycroft was the first person to ask.

And that, with the thousand other qualities the politician had, was what made Greg love the man.

He wanted Mycroft Holmes.

That was all he’d ever need.


End file.
